


Maintain a Healthy State of Mind

by Lyssavirus



Category: Left 4 Dead, Left 4 Dead 2
Genre: And general sappy teamwork, Blood, Character Death, Chronic Illness, Idk if there's gonna be an actual pairing, Infected-centric, Like it's mild until later, Mostly just weird bonding between a couple of sick kids, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 02:23:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9636623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyssavirus/pseuds/Lyssavirus
Summary: Your life is still important, regardless of how it's changed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I should warn you all this has been sitting around my docs forever and I'm pretty much just dumping it here in the hopes that I'll eventually continue it when there's not a ton of life stuff happening for me aha ha

 

The rain was finally tapering off. Flickering streetlights. Slick pavement underfoot. He'd made it.

Jack staggered under the unsteady glow of the few remaining lights near-blindly, struggling desperately just to keep his focus on the path ahead of him. He was exhausted, his breath coming in shallow pants and his pulse thundering so loudly that he could clearly hear it with every beat, but he'd escaped them. They'd kept coming and coming and he'd fought and fought, but he'd gotten away. Most of them had been driven to shelter by the sheets of rain and crashing thunder. Their eyes. He could feel their eyes. Everywhere.

The next thing that he knew there was pavement in his face, his cheek sore with the grit poking into it as he tried to bring the world back into focus. Oh god, no. He had to get up. The heat; the heat was searing, unbearable. Every muscle of his body ached like it was being flayed. A long, involuntary groan left him, his hands instinctively coming up to wipe at his face and clutch at his neck. More heat, damp heat.

_ Oh god that's my blood- _

“I-i-it was jus'...” Even to his own ears his voice sounded slurred, pathetic. Not good, not good. “Just a-a little bite...”

What had happened to his shotgun? He had no idea when he'd lost it, and no matter how well-equipped he was otherwise that was... that was not good. He struggled to recall just where he might have dropped it, but he was just too dazed.

_ They _ were going to notice; were going to see him here, prone and unarmed, and finish him. NO. He rioted at the thought. He'd fought too hard to die now!

Screaming. Every muscle of his body protesting as he somehow,  _ somehow _ made his way back to his feet. It was like that ache had somehow sank into everything, blurring his vision with it. His stomach lurched, wanting to throw up its already-emptied contents all over again. His head might've been the worst of it. He'd never felt so  _ sick _ in his life.

_ Something's wrong. Really, really wrong. _

It seemed like a million thoughts swarmed around that. A sudden pang, an urge to strike out and somehow chase them away, struck him. For now though, he shook his head. Just... keep... going.

Impossible as it seemed, he was making slow progress forward with his pained, dragging steps, though by now he'd almost lost track of his aim. Even fevered, his mind was set in determination. “A little bite,” he gritted out again, half to spur himself on and half just to keep from screaming again. After what seemed like an eternity, something resembling a grin crossed over his dry, dirty lips. He thought that just maybe, he really  _ could _ make it somewhere safe. If he could ignore the fire burning his muscles and the throbbing in his skull and the warm trickle of blood down his shirt. Just as he tried to force out a weak, strained chuckle though, he spat. What he saw on the ground sent him reeling, nearly staggering back onto his ass where who knew if he'd manage to get up again.

Teeth. He'd just spat out fucking  _ teeth _ .

His hands went up to rake through his sandy hair, to clutch at his head as a shriek built up there, growing deafening in his mind until it threatened to rip its way out of him. A blinding wave of denials, refusals washed over him, nearly choking him as surely as hands around his throat, pounding him like the downpour from above. It felt as if the world was rending itself apart in front of him.

_ Oh god, losing it, _ some part of his mind hissed.

In fact, he hardly noticed the gibbering, snapping form until it was feet from him, the infected man's eyes wild with aggression and his hands already outstretched as if for Jack's throat. He gasped in a breath, even that agony on his sore chest, and lurched back several steps. Trying to right himself did no good, and he found himself back on the drenched pavement.

There was no way that he could fend it off in his state. No way.

Even as he registered this, that horrid internal shrieking reached a boiling point.  _ No _ . Like nothing he'd ever felt before the drive to  _ survive,  _ to  _ live _ to make it to safety _ ,  _ overwhelmed him, crashing over him like a seething wave. It was like he was seeing through a red haze. NO.

Seemingly without any conscious thought on his part his hands groped out near-blindly for something,  _ anything _ that he could use in his defense. It was nearly upon him. The part of his brain that hadn't gone into autopilot recognized when something sliced over his fingertips, and he drew it up. A long, jagged spike of glass from a car window.

He was  _ NOT _ going to die here.

Dimly he registered that he was doing nothing to contain his yell now as his attacker continued to rush him.

A squawk of maybe surprise, maybe pain- The feel of flesh giving way-

Jack's glazed eyes riveted to the shard now jutting out of the man's belly, as the flesh gave way like ripping apart heavy, thick rags. For a moment, even like that, it still tried to get at him, but soon his hands dropped down to the mortal wound. And he was being deafened by the sound of his own heartbeat.

_ LIVE- _

Caught up in that spinning current he ripped the blade upward. Gutting. Entrails spilling. So, so warm. Panting.

And to think that he'd thought that he couldn't possibly have anything left to vomit. He sagged sharply to the side as harsh barks overtook him again, feeling like acid up his throat as what he'd just done-

(At what he'd just felt-)

Sunk in. This was entirely too much. Just too much- It was then that another muscle spasm rocked through him, leaving him in an arcing, curling, shrieking and twisting ball of nothing but pain. At that moment, the cool touch of pavement against his face felt like the only thing anchoring him to his sanity. Burning; He was burning alive.

Nothing.

 

For all he knew, it could've been hours before, haltingly, he began to realize that he was squinting his eyes against flickering light from up ahead. At first he just groaned lowly, whatever it was not helping the rail spike being steadily driven into his skull. For one reason or another, it seemed important though. Finally and with great effort he managed to slit his eyes open, trying to process what he was seeing.

He was... in a parking lot, filled with deserted vehicles. Up ahead loomed a tall building facade, all stories of glass windows. That light.

_ Hospital _ .

He'd... made it. A spark welled up in him, hopeful and almost painful in itself. He was so, so close. Even though even his  _ bones _ hurt by now his body began moving, lifting himself from his sodden pile on the ground as he shuffled with almost mindless perseverance toward the front doors.

This was it. He was going to be saved.

_ Oh god, help... _

Jack was going to be fine.

-x-

The gunshot broke through the silence and stillness that had settled through the air, jerking the two women into attention. The elder of them, a roundly plump blonde, opened her mouth into a little “oh” of surprise as she turned to meet the younger of the two's gaze. A cold pang raced through Jill's stomach, briefly rooting her to the spot.

No.  _ No. _

Her feet almost taken over by the sudden surge of pounding adrenaline, Jill turned right back around and sprinted for the worn, red-painted steel door, evading Carol's outstretched hand and the softly called, “Jill...”

She practically tore the door aside, choked by her heart in her throat. Just as she'd expected, Frank remained standing there, pistol still unholstered. At her entrance he simply looked up at her without a word, gaze saying nothing. In the corner of the shelter was Conner, on his side in his sleeping bag just as he'd been sleeping minutes before. Almost nothing would have looked wrong, if it weren't for the pool of blood slowly forming around his head.

Quite a few moments passed in which Jill remained entirely silent, her gut twisting horribly and her breath suddenly gone out of her. As her hands and her lips began to shake violently Frank still kept his quiet, almost as though waiting for whatever she would say. After the shock and she didn't know how long something else began to well up, sharp and hot until it felt like it would explode out of her. A shriek not unlike one of the infected ripped its way out of her throat and, almost blind with the rage and the tears forming in her eyes, she threw herself at the bulky former mall cop and began beating at his chest with all the force she could manage. In that moment she certainly wished that she  _ did  _ have claws or something.

“ _ Bastard _ !”

Frank didn't stop her even as Carol rushed to see what was going on, merely crossing his arms over his chest.

“I hate you, Frank! I HATE YOU!”

Finally he just sighed, looking down at her and uttering a simple, “Jill.”

“You are a murderer! Why?! You tell me WHY!”

“You know why.”

The girl wasn't exactly in the mind to be reasoned with though, and her body knew no exhaustion in that state. By now she really  _ was _ raking at the man's chest, for all the good it did. Her face was contorted into a mask caught between fury and sorrow, and the noises leaving her were awful. She didn't even take in Carol hastily closing and barring the door, too fixated to think of the possibility of attracting the attention of any nearby lesser infected with the commotion. She shook off the older woman's hand on her shoulder as one more scream tore itself from her hoarse throat and near-bonelessly she sagged to her knees on the dirty, debris strewn floor. Jill choked, she dry-heaved, she shook her head in disbelief until her dark locks were all sorts of disheveled, and still nothing was changing. Conner was still dead.

Above her Carol cast Frank a long, worried look, appearing frightened and uncertain herself. Finally under the pressure he shook his head and put his sidearm away, crouching several feet away. His dark eyes firmly on the distraught girl, he was unwavering when he insisted, “The kid was turning. You knew what I had to do.”

Jill just barely looked up, and she didn't have to say anything at all. Her eyes were spitting all of the curses that she ever could. A minute of tension passed before she murmured accusingly, “You said that we were going to help him.”

“I did.”

That spurred her into motion again and she'd nearly made it to her feet again before Carol caught her by the arm, wrapping Jill into a tight and not entirely voluntary hug. “Just calm down, honey,” she breathed out in assurance.

“ _Calm_ _down_?! How am I-! How am I supposed to...?!” It was all entirely too much. Just all of it. Everything had just... everything had just turned to shit so quickly, and she'd wanted _so badly_ to believe that at least _this_ would be okay.

The older woman let out a shaky sigh, and Jill could feel her shoulders sagging as well. Carol had a soft heart, she knew, even now. “There was nothing we could have done, sweetie,” she soothed, for all the good it did. It didn't do anything at all.

As Carol rubbed at the girl's back in slow, soothing circles, several pops punctuated the quiet as Frank dispatched a couple of commons through the bars that had indeed gotten curious at all of the noise. The sound startled Jill out of whatever calm- or perhaps, still, shock- that she'd fallen into. Her deep brown eyes narrowed again, her brows furrowing. A soft, muffled noise left her and she shoved off, wiping her face off on her arm. Immediately she turned for the door, drawing her own peashooter as she went. She wasn't going to look at this anymore, and damn them if they tried to stop her.

Frank grunted as she pushed past him roughly and unbarred the door, storming out without so much as one look back at him despite the fact that her eyes were ablaze.

“Is she out to get herself killed?” she heard behind her, and had to bite back a bitter hiss.

“She just needs a little bit of space,” came Carol's responding sigh.

Several feet out Jill squeezed her eyes shut and bit into her lip hard enough to draw blood, her hands clenching so tight her fingers locked around her pistol. It was like she could feel something dark and massive collapsing in on her, and the acrid reek of wet pavement and stale blood assailing her out here didn't help at all. Her stomach was empty save for a package of peanut butter crackers at the moment, but even that threatened to empty itself up.

She must've stood there frozen for a while when Carol finally spoke again, calling out in a hushed, worrisome tone, “Jill...?”

She didn't want to speak. She didn't want to move. She didn't want to do shit.

Jill gritted her teeth, drawing in a deep breath of the heavy air before letting it out with a shudder. It took some real effort but finally she opened her eyes, shaking her head slowly. When she finally spoke, her voice had aged years beyond what it should have been.

“Let's just... let's just go.”


End file.
